


Ocean's Trash

by feather_aesthetic



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Tickle Fights, Tickling, tickle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22568314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feather_aesthetic/pseuds/feather_aesthetic
Summary: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  Lou rolls her eyes. Daphne and Amita, who are beginning to realise what’s going on, start laughing at her impudence.“We really have to do this the hard way?”  Lou does—something with her free hand that the others can’t see, and Constance jolts.“Ah, okay—I took them!  But I don’t have them.” The other five are looking on with interest, and Constance eyes them as potential allies.  Judging from their expressions, the odds are not in her favour.“So where are they?” Debbie asks, and wow, their ability to trade off during an interrogation is uncanny.“I stashed them,” she gloats.  Debbie and Lou glance at each other, then in unison demand, “Where?”  Constance bites her lip to keep from laughing, looking up at them stony-faced.“Not telling.”  Her captors share another glance, then sigh.“We gave you an out, Constance,” Lou says, “You should have taken it,” Debbie finishes.
Relationships: Amita & Daphne Kluger, Constance & Daphne Kluger, Constance & Debbie Ocean, Constance & Lou Miller (Ocean's), Daphne Kluger & Nine Ball, Daphne Kluger & Rose Weil, Lou Miller & Debbie Ocean, Lou Miller/Debbie Ocean
Comments: 2
Kudos: 53





	Ocean's Trash

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of a weird ending with my headcanon about how they met, but oh well.

It’s a Saturday, and all is quiet in the loft. Members of the team are spread out in various positions on the living room couches, Rose stitching away on her latest project, Nine Ball doing God-only-knows-what on her laptop, Daphne flipping through some fashion magazine, and Tammy managing her expanding fence business from an iPad. Amita’s been hard at work re-setting the jewels from the Met Gala, but she, too, needs a break, and is sauntering over to flop onto the couch when Constance comes running in and collides with her head-on. They both yell comically, grabbing one another to avoid spinning out of control.

“Sorry!” Constance hisses, darting past Amita as soon as they’ve both regained their balance. 

“Woah, Constance, where are you going?” Tammy asks, sitting up. Constance pauses, in the midst of crossing the living room rug on her way to the door. If it were anyone else asking, she’d be more cavalier with her response, but Tammy exudes such a motherly vibe that she feels compelled to at least face her to answer.

“I have plans,” she hedges, shifting from foot to foot. Tammy narrows her eyes a fraction, a tic that Constance knows means she’s trying to work something out. The longer Tammy’s stare holds her there, the more frantically her gaze darts from Tammy to the door. Tammy smiles to herself. For all of Constance’s ability to lie and steal from strangers, she’s amusingly bad at it when it comes to her friends.

“What are you up to?” Tammy hums. As their standoff continues, the rest of the group gradually glance up from their various tasks, being drawn into the odd situation. There’s a clattering on the stairs, and Constance’s eyes widen.

“Nothing! Gotta go!” Before she can get more than a few steps further towards the exit, Debbie and Lou are upon her, tackling her onto the rug where they land in a giggling heap. The couple manage to each grab an arm, holding Constance to the floor. 

“Give us back our watches, Constance,” Debbie demands, face serious but corners of her eyes betraying her amusement. Constance adopts a ‘who, me?’ expression.

“You guys lost your watches?” she tries, unsuccessfully. Lou raises an eyebrow.

“You were running away with them 10 seconds ago.” Constance’s wide-eyed expression doesn’t change even a fraction.

“Only ‘cuz I knew I’d get blamed! It’s not my fault you guys can’t remember where you put your stuff!” 

“I watched you lift them,” Debbie says coolly. Constance takes on an air of defiance, which she pulls off admirably for someone flat on her back. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lou rolls her eyes. Daphne and Amita, who are beginning to realise what’s going on, start laughing at her impudence.

“We really have to do this the hard way?” Lou does—something with her free hand that the others can’t see, and Constance jolts.

“Ah, okay—I took them! But I don’t have them.” The other five are looking on with interest, and Constance eyes them as potential allies. Judging from their expressions, the odds are not in her favour. 

“So where are they?” Debbie asks, and  _ wow _ , their ability to trade off during an interrogation is uncanny.

“I stashed them,” she gloats. Debbie and Lou glance at each other, then in unison demand, “Where?” Constance bites her lip to keep from laughing, looking up at them stony-faced.

“Not telling.” Her captors share another glance, then sigh. 

“We gave you an out, Constance,” Lou says, “You should have taken it,” Debbie finishes. One of each of their hands is occupied with restraining one of hers, Debbie on her right and Lou on her left, but that still leaves them with one free hand each, hands that, unmoved by Constance’s increased struggling, are reaching for her unguarded stomach. Gently fluttering fingers find her sides, and despite Constance’s, in her opinion, commendable efforts to remain stoically unaffected, she cracks in seconds. Her laughter is bubbly and childish, full of little squeals and the occasional snort when searching fingers hit especially ticklish spots. Since fending them off isn’t exactly an option, Constance tries another tactic, which depends entirely on the mercy of her friends.

“Little help?” Constance lifts her voice to reach the captive audience. 

“Help her and you’re next,” Debbie shoots over her shoulder, not even missing a beat. Amita takes one look at the way Constance is squirming and blanches.

“So not worth it,” she mumbles. A second later, she’s slapping Daphne’s hands away from her and giggling, “What did I  _ just _ say?” but there’s no bite behind it. Rose worries her lip, caught between loyalties and her sense of self-preservation. She folds, following Amita’s example and shaking her head. Constance groans through her laughter.

“Daphne?” she tries, but the woman is already shaking her head.

“I have no sympathy.”

“Okay, well fuck you too,” Constance retorts, but it holds no acid and isn’t the least bit angry coming out between giggles. “Tammy, come on, you gotta help me.” Tammy presses her lips together to hold back a smile. It doesn’t take a genius to see that Constance doesn’t really mind this, and the way she looks up to Debbie and Lou like surrogate mothers is frankly adorable. Who is she to interfere?

“Sorry sweetheart, but you brought this on yourself.” Constance is momentarily overcome with laughter when Debbie starts pinching at her side, but steels herself to approach her only hope. This is it, her last resort. Constance puts on the best puppy eyes she has.

“Nine?” She snorts as Lou finds a spot on her ribs, then “Please?” Nine regards her for a moment, totally impassive. With every second that passes, Constance’s heart sinks further. Finally, Nine opens her mouth to reply.

“Try her knees,” is all she says before sitting back with her laptop. Constance is in utter disbelief, and it must show on her face because the peanut gallery bursts into laughter at her predicament. 

“You promised you wouldn’t tell!” she cries, affronted. Debbie is already half-shrugging and switching spots, ignoring Constance’s frantic pleas. She squeals and kicks at the feeling of Debbie pinching at the flesh just above her knees, fingernails scraping over her kneecaps through her jeans. Her suffering apparently further amuses her so-called friends, because they laugh even harder as her squeals fill the room.

“That was cold, Nine,” Tammy says, shaking her head. Nine Ball shrugs, apparently not the least bit guilty after giving up Constance’s most ticklish spot. Debbie’s fingers slip under her leg, scratching at the sensitive skin behind her knee, and Constance breaks.

“Okay!” she half-shrieks, eyes screwed up with mirth. “Okay.” Thankfully, they actually do stop when she surrenders, looking down at her expectantly. She sighs shakily, laughter still quivering in her voice.

“They’re behind the potted plant around the corner.” They both look at her incredulously, and she goes for an innocent shrug. Debbie gets up to check, leaving Lou to keep her pinned down. Just like she planned, the moment Debbie disappears around the corner Constance twists herself into a backwards roll and frees herself from Lou’s grip, scrambling for the door. Debbie comes back around the corner, near fuming.

“You lia—” is all she gets out before she realises that Constance is making a break for it. Debbie and Lou converge on her, but a second too late—the door slams in their faces and the sound of Constance’s maniacal cackling fades behind it. They turn to each other, incensed.

“I can’t believe her,” Lou grumbles. The other five women are in various stages of amusement, ranging from smirking (Nine Ball) to hysterical (Daphne and Amita), and Debbie shoots them a betrayed glance.

“Thanks for the support, ladies,” she mutters. Daphne scoffs.

“We all just sat here and watched you torture her! I’d think some gratitude is in order.” Before Debbie can even  _ begin _ to respond to that, the room comes alive with various buzzes and notification alerts. Lou whips her phone out of her back pocket, reads the text, then angles the screen towards Debbie.

**_Ocean’s Trash_ **

_ Con-Job: Check Amita’s pockets _

Amita has read it too, and she groans when she sticks her hands into the pockets of her cardigan, withdrawing a watch from the left one. 

“That sneak,” she laughs. “She crashed into me on her way in here, I should have known.” Debbie reclaims her watch, thumb sliding over the engraving on the back of it.

“Only one?” she muses.

**_Ocean’s Trash_ **

_ Lou: Where is mine, Constance? _

_ Con-Job: :) _

_ Lou: Constance. _

_ Con-Job: :))) _

* * *

The next morning, when Lou’s all but given up on ever regaining her watch, it turns up in a box on their doorstep, dropped off by an express package delivery service. At first glance, it appears to be untouched, but when she turns it over, the true purpose of Constance’s theft becomes clear. Engraved on the back of the watch is the outline of a queen of diamonds. Lou’s a little lost until she remembers the date, and then she finds herself shaking her head. Today marks the two-year anniversary of the day Lou and Constance first met, when Lou ran across her running her trademark scam in Chinatown. The queen of diamonds is the card she always uses in her games of Three-card Monte, the card that Lou watched Constance slyly slip into her sleeve several times before deciding to try her luck. Constance had been caught before, but Lou remains the only one to have quietly tugged the hidden queen from her sleeve, praise her handiwork, and leave without reclaiming the crisp $10 she’d laid out on the crate in front of Constance. Lou smiles at the memory, and slips the watch onto her wrist. For all her bluster, the girl can be surprisingly sweet. She wasn’t in the best place when Lou met her, and Lou has always suspected that the words they exchanged that day meant a great deal more to Constance than they did to Lou. The gift just confirms it. Debbie appears at the top of the stairs, curious. 

“Who was that, babe?” Lou smiles, that slow secretive smile that lets Debbie know she won’t be getting a straight answer out of her.

“My watch,” Lou raises her wrist to show off the accessory, and Debbie shakes her head.

“That girl is truly fascinating,” she muses, making a beeline for the espresso machine. Lou just smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm feather-aesthetic on tumblr, come yell at me or follow for more fics, I publish on there before I do on here so if you like my stuff you'll get it faster on that hellsite


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